Compassionate Friends
by Glory1863
Summary: When disaster strikes Shran, will the Enterprise crew offer their support or do they despise him as much as he thinks they do? Sequel to Mood Swings.


This story is a sequel to _Mood Swings_, but it is not necessary to have read that story first.

Compassionate Friends

(Imperial Guardsmen Don't Cry)

Commander Thy'lek Shran, on detached duty from the Andorian Imperial Guard and the acting first officer of the starship _Enterprise_, entered sickbay as unobtrusively as possible for "a word" with Trip Tucker as Captain Archer had "suggested." Dr. Phlox, the chief medical officer, saw him enter, but since Trip didn't seem concerned, he'd made no effort to stop him.

"How'd it go with Jon?" Trip asked, a definite note of concern in his voice.

"Commander Tucker, I sincerely apologize for my unpardonable behavior toward you earlier this morning in Engineering. I give you my word as an officer of the Imperial Guard that it will not be repeated. I will, of course, make this apology to you again in the presence of your staff."

"That well, huh?" Trip chuckled, but the worry in his eyes belied his mirth.

"I was given a warning, a very strong warning," Shran said in a flat voice.

"You told him?" Trip asked.

"Yes," Shran answered in a near whisper. Trip saw the great pain in the Andorian's large brown eyes.

"You know I wish you'd told him before, told all the senior officers, actually. They may tease you a bit at first, but hell, they tease me all the time!"

"You are not an Imperial Guardsman!" Shran interjected stiffly.

"Ain't that the truth - and damn lucky for the Guard too!" Trip was grinning from ear to ear. "But seriously, Thy'lek, they've stood by me through everything."

"You seem to have recovered nicely, Mr. Tucker. I think you can safely return to duty at this time. As for you, Commander Shran, the doctor will see you now." Phlox gestured expansively toward another cubicle.

Trip was grinning again as he arose from the biobed. "I'll tell the Captain we've kissed and made up." Shran winced but didn't say a word.

In the privacy of the cubicle, Phlox turned to Shran and asked, "When were you planning on telling me? Or should I ask, **were** you planning on telling me?" Shran stared at the wall at a point just above Phlox's head but said nothing. "That's what I thought."

"Commander, let's get something straight: I'm responsible for the health and well-being of this crew. That includes you. That's my job. I don't like being blindsided. I don't like losing patients, particularly if it's preventable. I don't like having to explain it to the Captain or to the next of kin, particularly if that next of kin is your lovely Jhamel." Phlox said this as kindly as possible with a vague smile on his face and worried that he was sending a mixed message. He didn't want to insult the proud and volatile Andorian, but at the same time he wanted to get across to him that this was a serious issue.

In a rough, angry voice Shran responded, "So I'm pregnant! Why all the fuss? Andorian males have done this since the gods created us."

Phlox calmly and didactically explained, "The fuss is because yours is a high-risk pregnancy. It is your first. Aenar and Andorian genetics are highly compatible but not perfectly matched. I understand Jhamel had some difficulties before transferring the embryo to you, and that there are concerns about her ability to carry the child to full term. By the way, what were you planning to do if you were half-way across the galaxy when you came to term and were due to return the embryo to her?"

Shran sighed deeply. "You've made your point, Doctor, but I wasn't in a position to request family leave. Imperial Command went to great pains to put me here. It would have been nice if I'd been kept informed of their progress, but I wasn't." Shran saw no reason to tell Phlox that he hadn't known about this assignment at all until the commanding general of the Imperial Guard had personally handed him his orders two weeks before he'd reported aboard and only a week before Jhamel had transferred the embryo to him.

Phlox carefully went over Shran's medical history and his current symptoms and ran the diagnostic scanner over him. He also had him remove his uniform jacket and lie down on the biobed. Phlox's hands pressed deeply over Shran's abdomen, lower chest and sides. He seemed satisfied with his findings. Shran hated it. It didn't hurt, but the only one he wished to have touch him so intimately was Jhamel.

Phlox prescribed various herbs to control Shran's recurrent nausea and to perhaps help him deal more successfully with the ambient temperature on _Enterprise_. The hope was that better nutrition would alleviate his debilitating fatigue. He was given exercises to ease the pain in his back. Phlox strictly instructed him to perform the exercises only as directed. More was not better! He also advised him to continue to abstain from alcohol. Shran gave him a baleful look. "Doctor, contrary to popular belief, I am not a total fool!" Phlox shot him a look but didn't comment. He was concerned, however, about Shran's headaches. Shran, who by now was definitely anxious to escape from sickbay, remonstrated, "But the books say they're common."

"Do they, Doctor?" Phlox replied, perhaps a bit more sharply than he had intended, but with the same vague smile on his face. "Yours seem to be a bit worse than average, and your blood pressure is perhaps a little high. Return to see me in 3 days to let me know how you're doing. If you're better, then you can see me regularly twice a week. Come in sooner if you feel worse, particularly the headaches, or if you have any chest or abdominal pain or any bleeding. That's an order, Commander."

Shran, who had already donned his uniform jacket, brought his right arm diagonally across his chest, right hand to left shoulder, in a formal salute. "By your command."

Shran returned at the appointed time. He actually felt better. He could eat again, and his coloration was almost back to its normal cerulean blue. He no longer felt so exhausted. His back was much better. The ship was still too hot, but then, it always was. Only the headaches remained, and the new vivid dreams of Jhamel, but he didn't consider the latter a problem.

Unfortunately, the improvement didn't last long. The headaches became worse, as did the intermittent blurry vision, with the onset of slight dizziness. The tightness in the muscles of his back returned and spread to the muscles of his abdomen. The vivid dreams were no longer exclusively of Jhamel. Sometimes they were of incidents from earlier in his career, things he would prefer to forget like the destruction of his ship, the _Kumari_. He longed for the end of his duty shift so he could return to the relative coolness of his quarters; change from the close-fitting leather uniform to elegant, soft, silk robes; lie down, listen to his music and feel Jhamel's love for him through their marital bond.

It didn't occur to him to be honest with Phlox, or perhaps he really did believe that some of his symptoms were residual effects of the damage to his left antenna from his _Ushaan_ duel with Archer. He couldn't hide the elevated blood pressure, though; however, since he believed that whatever Phlox had prescribed for him was clouding his mind, he took it as little as possible. He feared being relieved of duty. Even though it would be on solid medical grounds, not through any lapse or fault in his performance, he felt he would be disgraced, particularly on this "pinkskin" ship. Imperial Guardsmen are tough. They don't cry over every little thing.

Shran had grown tired of the mindless banter. Hoshi Sato, the communications officer; Travis Mayweather, the helmsman; and Malcolm Reed, the weapons and tactical officer, were always joking, whispering and plotting whenever his eyes weren't on them. He'd finally demanded silence on the bridge. At the end of this difficult duty shift, he'd stopped in the mess hall to get some food to take back to his quarters. He saw all three officers sitting at a table in the corner. They didn't see him. He oriented his antennae so he could hear them.

"Man, what's up with Shran?" Travis asked for what seemed like the umpteenth time that day.

"Let it go, Travis. It's just his time of the month, I guess," Hoshi said lightly while wishing Travis would change the subject.

"You're never that bad, Hoshi," Malcolm quietly observed with a smile. Given that he and Hoshi had been a couple now for some time, he would be in a position to know. Hoshi tried to look offended (but failed) as she punched his arm and got up to leave.

Shran had to think about the phrase she'd used. When it dawned on him what it meant, he'd been outraged and had muttered under his breath, "Worthless cursed daughter of an ice witch!" At least that's what Hoshi's carefully programmed universal translator would have heard. The sense of his phrase, however, was a great deal nastier.

When Hoshi got up to leave, she thought she saw a flash of blue out of the corner of her eye. She hoped it wasn't Shran, or if it was, that his ultrasensitive antennae hadn't picked up what she'd said. It really hadn't been appropriate. Hoshi actually liked Shran. Sure, he could be a tough taskmaster, he could be volatile, but he could also be compassionate. It was clear to her, however, that there was something major bothering him. She just wished she knew what. Maybe she could help.

The next day, Shran had asked for, and received, Archer's permission to run battle simulations, but things were not going at all well. The helm was slow to answer. When he asked for hailing frequencies to be opened, communications were off-line. When he gave the order to open fire, the targeting array had been down and Reed had had to switch to manual fire control. Gods, did anything work on his ship? Once again, he couldn't make out images on the view screen. Why couldn't Engineering fix it? Why did they insist that nothing was wrong? Why did that arrogant ice demon, "Leftenant" Reed, insist they were right? That was one reason he'd decked Tucker. He was tired of excuses for incompetence. He stood to approach the view screen and immediately knew it had been a poor idea. The room spun, his vision grayed and he went to his knees. He heard Archer order the termination of the exercise and then felt him come to his side to help him rise, but he pulled away and managed to stand on his own.

In guarded, wary tones Shran said, "That's not necessary, Captain. I'm fine. A moment's weakness only. My balance has not quite recovered from the effects of our _Ushaan_ duel. The exercise can continue."

"I don't think so, Commander. I am formally relieving you of bridge duty," Archer said quietly and as gently as possible.

Shran was outraged. "You can't do that!"

"Oh, but I can; in fact, I just did." Archer's voice was firmer now, but there was still concern in his eyes. "Mr. Reed, please assist the Commander to sickbay."

What Archer saw in Shran's eyes was pure hatred. The venom in his voice shocked him. "You never wanted me here, Archer. You never wanted an Andorian on your bridge. It's because you know that we are better than you are, that **I** am better than you are. This ship is a disgrace! With discipline, it just might be made passable. You're afraid that I'll air that dirty little secret to Starfleet, that I'll be able to accomplish what you cannot. You'll do anything to prevent that, use any excuse to throw the pregnant little Andorian off your bridge. Congratulations, Pinkskin, you've succeeded. I hope you all drown in the seven icy seas of Hell!" Shran wheeled away from Archer to stalk out and nearly bumped into Reed who backed away, his hands raised, palms out and open, in a placating gesture. "Lay a hand on me and you'll lose it." Shran growled.

Archer saw the stunned expressions on the faces of his bridge crew and knew that he must look the same to them. He had known that Shran could be a very private man, but he had hoped that he would eventually tell the senior officers of his condition and avail himself of their support and understanding. Of all the scenarios that had run through his mind on how Shran might do that, he had never imagined it would be like this. "As you were, people. In regard to what we just witnessed . . ."

Shran had no idea how he got to his quarters, only that he did. He keyed the door to privacy lock and threw himself on his bunk. He closed his eyes tightly and lay perfectly still in an effort to control his vertigo. His head felt like it was going to explode. Only Archer's severing of his antenna had hurt more, but not by much. His heart was racing, pounding and he felt as if its chambers were trying to escape from his body. Why was it so hard to breathe? Why was it so hot? What was happening to him?

When he regained consciousness, he first thought that there was a red haze to his vision and that he was still dizzy but then realized that the ship was on red alert and being rocked by particle cannon fire. He made his way to his desk and accessed his command protocols. Archer may have removed him from the bridge, but he hadn't terminated the first officer's data feed. The ship was under attack by an unknown vessel and help in the form of two Vulcan ships was still some minutes away. _Enterprise_ was in trouble. Archer may not want him on the bridge, may not think him of any value, but it looked like Trip could use all the help he could get in Engineering, even the help of a pregnant Andorian.

He hurried down toward Engineering. Just as he turned the corner to enter the department, the ship rocked again and a chest-high electrical panel exploded in front of him. The force of the blast sent him crashing into the opposite bulkhead. He was momentarily stunned but then managed to push the debris off. Why was it so hard to breathe? He felt like someone had buried an _ushaan-tor_ in his abdomen. He couldn't seem to stand up. He tore open his uniform jacket and tried to find the wound. He saw that his hands were covered in blood - blue blood, teal blood. Ti'ara! He desperately sought for his unborn daughter in his family bond only to feel her die as his own life's blood drained from him. Someone was above him, touching him, searching for life signs. It was just too much trouble to speak or even to open his eyes. He heard a voice, Trip's voice with its strange accent, urgently summoning Dr. Phlox to the Engineering entrance: "It's Shran. I think he's dying."

Within his marital bond, Shran whispered, "Jhamel, I need you! Please help me!"

He heard her answer, "Beloved!" It was the last thing he remembered. Imperial Guardsmen don't cry, not even when they're dying.

Shran awoke in a dimly lit sickbay and thought it must be early morning. His whole body ached. He sought for Ti'ara in his family bond as he always did upon awakening but could not find her; then he remembered she was gone, remembered feeling her die. He felt deep sobs wrack his body. But that wasn't possible. Imperial Guardsmen don't cry!

"Ti'ara, Jhamel, I am so sorry! Please forgive me. Forgive me," he whispered again and again. He felt Jhamel within their bond, felt her deep sorrow but also her unconditional love. The feeling overwhelmed him. It was as if she were lying beside him, holding him, stroking his hair. His eyes closed and he slept deeply.

When he awoke again the lights had been turned up. It must be day on _Enterprise_. Phlox hovered over him and wished him a cheery "good morning", but his eyes were deeply troubled.

In a cold, distant, mechanical voice, Shran said, "Doctor, I know you don't like giving patients or their next of kin bad news, so I'll spare you the trouble. I know I've lost my daughter - lost Ti'ara. I've been able to feel her in our family bond since the night she was conceived, but I can't feel her anymore. I felt her die. I have already apologized to Jhamel for my - carelessness." Phlox gently placed his hand on Shran's shoulder. He didn't leave. "Is there something else, Doctor?" Shran asked curtly.

"Yes, Thy'lek, I'm afraid there is. You suffered severe internal injuries from the force of the explosion. I'm sorry to say I couldn't repair them all adequately. I'm afraid you will not be able to carry embryos in the future." He said it as gently as possible and with great sadness in his voice. He continued, "However, the Guard's medical unit has developed technology that will allow you and Jhamel to have children."

Shran's voice was still distant and mechanical but even colder as he interrupted, "Thank you, Doctor. We'll discuss it later." He turned his face away. Weeks ago, when he was first disciplined for his erratic behavior and had been forced to tell Archer he was pregnant, he had also told him that he couldn't bear the thought of ever being pregnant again. Now he would give anything, even his soul, to have that basic part of his masculinity restored. He knew about the technology Phlox had mentioned, but the thought of having his children incubated in a machine rather than carried within his own body was repugnant to him. He had always been told to be careful what he wished for because he might get it. Why did the gods only listen to the stupid, thoughtless wishes? Why were those the only ones they granted? He felt tears streaming down his face. But that wasn't possible. Imperial Guardsmen don't cry!

Phlox had finally allowed Shran to finish recuperating in his quarters where the temperature was more to his liking and he could listen to his music. He knew he needed to see Archer and face the consequences for his appalling behavior and for having broken his word to him, but he avoided doing so. He rationalized that Archer was busy overseeing repairs. The weapons systems were a shambles. The ship was barely underway, on impulse power only, and required the escort of the Vulcan vessels. In truth, he thought it was better to be out of sight and out of mind. He was surprised that Archer had not ordered him arrested and restrained in sickbay and then transferred to the brig when Phlox had discharged him. He knew he had destroyed his career. He had sent a message to the Imperial Command requesting reassignment. As if that could minimize the damage he'd done! When he received no reply, and had had additional time to think about it, he sent another message resigning his commission.

He had just loaded another music file into his player when the door chime sounded. When he answered, it was Archer. "Good evening, Commander," Archer said pleasantly. "That's Bach's _Toccata and Fugue in D Minor_, isn't it? I seem to remember that it was used for a segment of a beautiful animated film, Walt Disney's _Fantasia_ I believe it was. I'll have to ask Trip to get a copy for Movie Night. May I come in?"

Shran, who was taken aback by Archer's demeanor, merely nodded, stepped aside, indicated the chair by the desk and muted his music player. Whenever he had thought about how his career might end, starting a disciplinary review with a discussion of music and movies had never come to mind. Standing rigidly to attention before Archer, he said, "I believe I owe you two apologies sir, one for my actual behavior and one for having broken my word to you concerning my behavior. I'm afraid I don't remember everything I said and did, but neither Dr. Phlox nor Commander Tucker will discuss it with me, so I can only conclude that whatever it was, it was outrageous, even for me." Archer saw the slight, wry smile that didn't alleviate the bleakness in Shran's expressive brown Andorian eyes. "You should also know, sir, that I had requested reassignment, but on further consideration of the matter, I have resigned my commission. I can't do this anymore."

Archer saw both misery and despair in Shran's eyes and heard them in his voice. Proceeding with great care, he said, "I believe there are two issues here. First, you can't expect Phlox or Trip to know what you said or did on the bridge as they weren't there. You can't remember yourself, and I certainly have no idea what you're talking about. I'd say you have a clean slate, Commander." He saw first confusion and then gratitude in Shran's eyes. "Second, in regard to your resignation, Hoshi was afraid you'd do something - radical - like that. She brought your messages to the Imperial Command to my attention and I embargoed them." He saw Shran's eyes narrow and a flash of anger. "We didn't read them, Thy'lek. Like I said, we know you, and we could guess. I just wanted a chance to talk to you and maybe change your mind. Please hear me out and seriously consider what I have to say. In the end, whatever you decide I'll support and I'll release the message."

"I firmly believe that for Starfleet to be truly successful, officers and crew from all of the allied worlds need to serve aboard ships in an integrated manner. Only in that way can we come to fully understand and trust one another. Under normal circumstances, Thy'lek, you are an excellent officer. Granted, a bit -overenthusiastic - at times, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. This last tour, however, did not even remotely resemble 'normal circumstances.' I know Imperial Guardsmen are tough, so please take no offense, but the way Starfleet and the Imperial Guard normally drag their feet, I can't understand why they couldn't have waited another 3 months or more to start this particular program instead of choosing to put you through hell. The bottom line is that the senior officers and I would like you to remain as first officer. If you find the memories too painful to allow you to do that, then we certainly understand, accept your decision and wish you well; but if there is any way that you can see yourself staying, then I need for you to know that you are wanted here."

"Thank you, Captain. I shall carefully consider all you have said, but in the end I should think that the decision is really up to General Lord Tel'kien as he commands the Imperial Guard."

"I've already taken the liberty of speaking with General Lord Tel'kien. I have made my position clear. I suggested that, under the circumstances, you be given some time to make your decision, and I strongly indicated that I would support whatever it was. He agreed."

For the first time in quite awhile Archer saw true amusement in Shran's eyes. "I'm impressed, Captain. Perhaps you are not aware, but General Lord Tel'kien's reputation is such that, as a junior officer, I would never presume to make a suggestion to him unless I was blind drunk, suicidal or, preferably, both."

Archer laughed heartily. "Thy'lek, I was thinking: _Enterprise_ is going to be space docked and under repair for a considerable period of time. _Columbia_ will be rotating off the Andorian station shortly and is scheduled to make a stop at O'Hare-Lovell. Perhaps Jhamel would like to join you for awhile? I think I could arrange passage for her. The _Columbia's_ captain is a personal friend."

"So I've been given to understand, Captain," Shran said dryly, amusement still in his eyes.

Archer ignored the barb. "Most of us 'pinkskins' would probably spend the time in Hawaii, but I suppose Andorians would probably prefer McMurdo Station in Antarctica where they could watch the penguins or something."

"I will consult Jhamel, but, yes, McMurdo Station sounds promising, watching penguins - or something." Shran smirked and thought, or something indeed, something that will melt ice!

"I'm glad you approve. I've already made the arrangements with Captain Hernandez." Archer noted Shran's pleased and surprised look. "As for you, Phlox has cleared you for duty, and I am hereby reinstating your bridge privileges. I could use your help, so I'll expect to see you tomorrow at 0600 sharp. Don't make me come down here looking for you, Commander," he said with mock severity. This time, both men laughed.

When he returned to duty, he noted that some officers and crew approached him timidly, undoubtedly afraid they would set off his temper again. "I'm sorry for your loss, sir." Others only said, "good morning, sir" as usual but in a tone his antennae recognized as vastly different. He nodded, smiled or replied politely. He understood what they were trying to say. He hoped they understood he appreciated it. Still, when he was alone in his quarters at night, the emptiness he felt in the family bond in the place that had belonged to Ti'ara and the memory of feeling her die would overwhelm him. He longed for Jhamel's presence. He wanted to hold her and to be held by her. He found it hard to believe that she had forgiven him for losing their daughter, that she still loved him. How did she endure the pain? He wasn't sure he could have responded in kind if she had been the one who had miscarried, if she had been the one who could no longer bear children. He hoped he would have been as compassionate, but the uncertainty haunted him, and he felt ashamed. Outworlders were led to believe that Andorian marriage bonds could not be broken, but it wasn't always true. A bond devoid of children, devoid of joy or any satisfaction could indeed be dissolved, though neither partner was likely to bond again with another. Imperial Guardsmen don't cry, not even when no one can see them.

The _Enterprise_ had been docked for some time at O'Hare-Lovell, the big space port outside Chicago that had become a main repair and refit area for Starfleet following the destruction of the Kennedy-Canaveral Station in the Xindi attack. Shran sat in his quarters listening to Bach's _Sheep May Safely Graze._ He'd developed a taste for this composer's work over the last few weeks. He couldn't explain why. The door chime was a jarring interruption. It was Trip and he appeared to be in distress. "Thy'lek, I need to ask you a favor. I know it's a bad time and all, but the Captain's busy and T'Pol couldn't get away from some conference. There's a service I've been going to since my daughter Elizabeth . . . Well, it's tonight . . . Oh, hell, I'm sorry! This was a bad idea. Please forget I mentioned it." Trip looked like he wished the earth would just swallow him up.

"You would like me to come with you?" Shran asked quietly.

"Yeah, I'd really appreciate it."

Shran turned off the player. "I'm honored to be of service."

"Oh, by the way, bring that light you use in the ice caves," Trip added. Shran was curious about the request, but he complied.

Chicago had been a rail hub for some 300 years, and the heavy rail system was still a popular choice with commuters. When Trip and Shran had transported planetside, they first took the Metra-Star and then transferred to the Metra-UP-West which they rode to the end of the line. A ground shuttle took them to a farm on the other side of the small rural village where a massive evergreen tree standing beside a pond and small brook had been decorated with a myriad of tiny white lights, the reflection of which danced in the water. Shran noticed a number of emergency services vehicles parked in the farm lane. He couldn't think why. There seemed to be a surprising number of people present. Many seemed to know Trip and were quite friendly. It didn't seem to matter that the guest he'd brought was an Andorian; in fact the only thing that seemed to concern anyone about his presence was the fact that he wasn't wearing a coat over his heavy royal blue silk service uniform. For humans, the late autumn evening was crisply cool, but for Shran it was pleasingly warm.

They were joined by Hoshi who rather cryptically commented to Trip that Malcolm and Travis had been "unavoidably detained." Trip merely nodded. Hoshi was carrying what looked to be a small boat with a candle inside. Shran remembered that shortly after he had taken up his duties as _Enterprise's_ first officer, he had seen her place something similar on the altar in the chapel. He had stood quietly and respectfully in the shadows at the back of the room. When she had finished her prayers, he had asked her the significance of the ritual. "To honor my late grandfather," she replied. "Back in our home village we have a ceremony to honor our ancestors. At the end, we place the boats adrift in the river. It's really quite beautiful. But in space - well, you do the best you can. I hope Grandfather will understand." He had asked permission to recite a poem of his people, a poem about the journey of life and how death, the journey to the West, was a joyous part of it. She had consented and seemed pleased by it. He had told her that even though he was not of her people, he doubted that any ritual performed with love, honor and respect, as hers had obviously been, could be deemed unacceptable.

Shran found this present "Ceremony of Remembrance" for lost children, both born and unborn, to be quite moving as leaders of many faiths spoke not just of the grief of loss but also of the joy in the gift that had been given for however short or long a time. There was no Andorian priest, of course, but Shran quietly murmured the prayers of his people and was careful to include little Elizabeth's name as well as Ti'ara's. At the conclusion of the service, light radiated out from the center of the gathering as people lit candles or lanterns and turned on flashlights. He watched Hoshi light the candle in the boat and was startled to see that it wasn't a carefully folded paper boat like she had used before, but a hand-carved wooden boat, a warship very like _Kumari_, that was painstakingly painted in sliver, white, blue, teal and black. She knelt beside the brook, placed the boat carefully into the water and gently pushed it out into the current. "Malcolm and Travis gave me a hand with it," she explained. "This one's for Ti'ara."

The reason for the emergency services vehicles now became apparent as searchlights on the rigs powered up and sent their beams high into the clear night sky. As if in answer, a pattern of lights came on from above. It took a moment, but Shran finally recognized the pattern as a starship's running lights. He looked in amazement at Trip. "_Enterprise?" _he whispered. Now he understood Hoshi's earlier remark. Since he and Trip were planetside, Malcolm would be the next ranking officer. Archer had undoubtedly allowed the careful, precise Englishman to command the maneuvers this evening, and given that _Enterprise_ was flying just inches above minimums in order to be seen, and this in the world's busiest airspace, both Archer and Reed would definitely want Travis at the helm.

"I told you the Captain was busy. He had a couple of systems to check out before he signed off on the repairs. Electrical was one of 'em." Trip smiled broadly, but then became serious. "Look, Thy'lek, sometimes I still talk to my sister Lizzie and little Elizabeth. Just in my heard, ya know? Ever since you were hurt, I've asked them to watch for Ti'ara and take care of her until you and Jhamel . . . so she won't be scared and alone. I just wanted to make sure they got the message." He was grinning again. "So I asked Jon if I could borrow _Enterprise._ He didn't have a problem with that."

"I have asked Grandfather to look after her as well," Hoshi added quietly.

Shran finally acknowledged that sometimes, if the reason is compelling enough, Imperial Guardsmen do cry and there is no shame in it, not when safely in the presence of compassionate friends.

Afterword

The title for this story comes from The Compassionate Friends, a non-profit, self-help, support organization for families (parents, grandparents and siblings) who have suffered the death of a child of any age. There is no religious affiliation. There are no membership dues. There are chapters across the US and overseas.


End file.
